Doshaburi Days
by LiberatedMapleRose
Summary: England haves some issues when America becomes independent. Can a certain stubborn American help?


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, sadly.

Doshaburi Days

England sighed into the crisp and warm American wind. His so called 'little brother' had nice land and a good personality if not slightly annoying. The way he always cared for those in need and his bright, shining smile.

England couldn't help but enjoy what the little American rascal had brought him the first day he entered the Brit's life.

The older nation looked to America, who was clutching what seemed to be the same rabbit England had always seen the young colony with. Stroking the fur gently, the small rabbit's nose twitched, making the English man and the colony laugh. America released it from his lap and watched how it leaped into the evergreen forest ahead. The British empire ruffled his colony's hair, and the boy laughed as his sky blue eyes poured into the elders forest green ones.

England sighed, having to get back to work, as the walked back to their wooden log cabin a little ways from where they were sitting. Telling the younger, he watched as America moaned, unhappy that he was leaving once more.

"It's alright," England told him."I'll always come back."

And as irresponsible it was, a promised he could never keep for sure, he patted the colony's back, and looked straight into his bright blue eyes.

"I promise."

1776

England's eyes squeezed shut. He was so weak, so, _so _ weak. Why couldn't he promise to keep what was most important to him? He made a promise, didn't he? The rain pouring off his tattered _red coat_ felt like bullets almost penetrating his skin. His mouth tasted a strange way, something too horrible and gruesome for England's mind to even imagine: his favorite tea mixed with the metallic taste of blood. His face was covered in blood, some his own, some of his own fallen soliders. And they stood there, the two facing each other, no matter what side, with grim faces.

America stood there, navy blue coat flapping in the wind, his eyes strong and determined. His eyes no longer held the same innocence they did when he was a small colony, no, not now, they held strength and sadness.

Pointing a gun at his mentor, the rifle, the former colony squeezed his eyes shut, and before he shot, before he declared his independence, before _he left_, he mouthed,

_I'm sorry, England._

_~0~_

England's eyes slowly opened, unlike any way you would see in a book. In any other tale, the main character would jolt upright in his bed, or at least snap his eyes open. But England slowly opened his eyes, to the annoying _tick, tick, tick _of his grandfather clock.

The first thing that hit him, like a bullet in the chest, exactly how it felt _that day_ was the date today.

It was the fourth of July.

And today America would celebrate the very day England cried. The very day England broke his promise.

Making an effort to get out of bed, even though all he wanted to do today was sit in bed, but walked toward his dresser to find his clothes.

But he noticed something.

_It's raining today._

And there he stood, memory reflected in the window.

~0~

And America stood there, silent, sad, but determined.

Gun pointed at him, England forced down the lump in his throat. His blue eyes, same as the ones that cheered him up as an empire, and the rain, like gunshots in the air. England's whole world was crumbling before him. He would do anything for that playful, mischievous, caring, brave and _ridiculous _child would come back once more.

_This isn't a dream, the boy you long once know is gone._

Looking back on his previous self, he felt laughter pent up in his chest. How foolish he was. _That_ America is buried and dead, for a very long time.

~0~

Now, every year around the fourth of July,

England would disappear right off the map.

Search parties were futile,

Because if a nation didn't want to be found,

They wouldn't be.

But that wasn't the case for a certain English man and stubborn American.

~0~

_How long has it been? it feels like a million years now._ England thought to himself. _The world is still spinning, these lonely days. How many times, these repeated fantasies of July?_

A loud knock came on the door. But this time, no 'England where are you?' no worried mumblings on where he might be.

"England, come out. I know you're there."

England's breath hitched. It was America. _No. Not him. Anyone else, even that bloody frog France. Not him. Not today._

Another knock.

Collecting his thoughts, he finally answered, "What do want you git?" he seethed, bitterness pouring into his words."Shouldn't you be off _celebrating?"_ His voiced cracked at the end.

With a smile, he opened the door, and said "Why not celebrate in our old house with you this year?" Add to punctuate it, the icing on the cake, he used what America used to call the Englishman when he was little:"Big brother Iggy."

England stood up, walked, and passed the younger nation, and said" Serves you right." He turned, holding out his hand for acceptance. 'Let's sound the liberty bell, shall we?"

America smiled at the nation who had _finally _approved his independence. England had a small smile on his face and promised himself:

_No more hiding on rainy days._

~0~

July 5

England woke up once more, laying on his bed and mentally remarked,

_It's raining again_,

and murmured,

"I failed again as well."


End file.
